おまけ劇場 (Bonus Theater): Ruins We Call Home
by frankannestein
Summary: This giftfic is written for the amazing Mooncloudpanther, who has given me permission to write a fanfic of her fanfic. I hope I've taken good care of Pum, Panther! "The Dance" Bonus Theater takes place between chapters seven and eight of Panther's fic, "Ruins We Call Home."


**おまけ劇場 (Bonus Theater): Ruins We Call Home**

_ThunderCats in its entirety © Warner Bros._

_Ruins We Call Home © Mooncloudpanther_

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><p><span><strong>The Dance<strong>

"I would love to dance," Pumilee blurted, her eyes on the festivities, face glowing with the last heat of sunset. "That just looks so . . . _fun_." Then she realized that everyone was staring at her. Hurriedly, she tried to retract. "But, uh . . . here for a reason, right?"

"Hey King, your loyal subject wants to dance," Bengali said to me, grinning in the infuriating way I equated with my brother, Tygra. "Guess I _will_ be leading then."

"Wait – what?!" I cried. We weren't here to waste time dancing, and this white tiger had no business taking my place.

Not that he cared about my opinion, and he was bigger than me. He shoved me at Pumilee, saying, "Panthro and I will look for my cousin. You hopeless beings join in a dance somewhere. But ask first."

I managed to catch myself before I knocked Pumilee to the ground. I also didn't miss the look Bengali shot at Tygra and Cheetara before he motioned Panthro to follow him. I had a pretty good idea what he was up to, and wondered if Pumilee did, too. I couldn't tell. They were good friends, but Pumilee sometimes got so wrapped up in her own worries and herbal lore that the most obvious things flew right over her head.

Panthro grunted. "Sure," he said indifferently. "Never liked parties, anyway."

"Shh," Bengali hissed, waving a quelling paw. "Don't let the ligers hear you say that. This is a nameday celebration for one of the archons. It's a big deal. You could consider it a matter of state."

He put particular emphasis on the last part, looking me dead in the eye, before the crowd of talking, drinking cats swallowed up him and Panthro, leaving me with Pumilee, Tygra, and Cheetara. The kittens were long gone. Four down, four left. I rolled my eyes. Real smooth, Bengali.

Then I thought about what he'd said. Well, when he put it that way. Who was I? Lord of the ThunderCats. Maybe no one recognized me here, but I couldn't very well slight one of the rulers by refusing to dance. Then I frowned. How would he even know about the intricacies of royal politics and foreign relations, anyway? I grew up having diplomatic law crammed down my throat, but Bengali?

Pumilee misread my expression. She met my gaze head on the way she always did – with the long-lashed, golden-brown eyes that reminded me so much of her sister, Pumyra – but she had deflated a little as if regretting her earlier outburst. "If you don't want to . . ." she started, and trailed off uncertainly.

"No . . . it's fine," I said, and tried smiling at her. "I can't say I wasn't wanting to dance either." Which was the truth. The playful music of lyres, harps, and flupes practically begged us to join the whirling dance, sashes and skirts flicking in the light of the multicolored torches. Cheetara and Pumilee were swaying where they stood.

"Great!" Pumilee smiled back, and her enthusiasm was as infectious as it was a surprise. Did she really not mind getting stuck with me as a partner?

"Let's go see if there's a place for us," Cheetara said, taking Pumilee's arm. Thus joined, the two females hurried off together.

I moved to follow so we wouldn't lose them, but Tygra draped an arm across my shoulders and held me back. "Try not to step on the lady's feet too much," he said in my ear.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I muttered, pushing him roughly away, but he only laughed at me and took off after his mate. Irritated, I stomped after them.

Tigers. They were all the same.

..::~*~::..

When I caught up with Pumilee, we were immediately pulled apart by some of the locals; a group of ligresses culled her and Cheetara, and three ligers corralled me and Tygra.

"You'll have to remove your armor and put on more casual clothes if you want to dance," one of them said, grinning. "This isn't a battlefield."

Tygra's eyebrow twitched. "You're kidding."

"Come on, Tygra. It's not so bad," I said a few minutes later from inside a silk-walled tent, handing over the pieces of my armor to a humming liger.

"This isn't bad?" Tygra groused. He reappeared from behind a partition dressed in loose-fitting trousers and a tunic of sunset orange cinched around his waist with a black sash. "Why do I have to wear more orange?" he demanded.

The ligers laughed, and so did I, but nobody answered. And when I dressed in my borrowed clothes, I stopped laughing.

"Never mind," Tygra said, guffawing. "It really isn't so bad."

I scowled down at myself. I was resplendent in similar trousers and tunic, but they were purple. I tugged on one of my red sideburns. Was purple some kind of royal color? I was going to stand out like a jackalman in a wolo village, an eye-watering nightmare.

Then I caught sight of Cheetara and Pumilee, and suddenly, my clothes didn't matter so much.

Pumilee was . . . beautiful. I mean, she was always beautiful, but – it was hard to say what was different about her. Her mane flowed loose around her shoulders and down her bare back, the crown pulled back so I could clearly see her face. She seemed so alive, laughing and carefree. She took my paws without hesitation, as if there was nothing she wanted to do more right at that moment than dance with me, and yanked me into a set that literally swept us away. Feet flying, we twirled in time to the music, our paws linked to those of two other couples, three females and one other male. I didn't know this dance and I don't think she did, either, but the ligers and ligresses gripped our paws more firmly and slowed their steps so that we could copy them. We stumbled a lot – well, I did, although I managed not to crush anybody's toes.

Pumilee didn't seem to care. Eyes shining, she twined her fingers with mine and danced hip to hip with me. It was incredible how I couldn't look away. All I wanted to do was tug her closer, to feel her leg against mine, to put my arm around her waist and dance, just the two of us the way that we'd been taught to dance in Thundera. She wasn't looking away, either. In fact, her steps were slowing like mine, and she didn't seem aware at all of how our other partners were smiling and laughing at us.

Then, our circle sort of merged with another one as it passed through, and I lost track of her.

Her mane whipped out of sight. It was as if I'd been tossed into the sandsea. Paws reached out, grasped mine, and around and around I went in a whirlpool. With only half a mind on the complicated steps of the dance, I craned my neck, searching for her. I saw her as she glided by, and blushed when I realized that, like me, she kept turning her head to keep her eyes on me.

Eventually, we were spun right out of the dance and practically into each other's arms, dizzy and out of breath. She straightened without my help, caught my eye, and doubled over in laughter.

"Again!" she cried. Before I could stop her, she dragged me back into the throng of dancers. The new dance was kinder to us, for all the men lined up on one side and the women on the other, facing each other. We moved together, occasionally stepping across the space between us to take a turn, elbows linked, then to bow and resume our places in line. This was more my speed, what the nobility of Thundera called a country dance, and once or twice I caught a spark of appreciation in Pumilee's expression.

"How long has it been since Bengali and Panthro ditched us?" she wanted to know several dances later.

"I don't know," I said, snagging a couple glasses of what the locals called Summer Fey from a passing waiter.

"It feels like hours, and yet it doesn't feel like any time at all. Thank you," she said, accepting a glass from me. Her eyes widened as she took a sip.

It pleased me that she liked it, even though I'd had nothing to do with it except a longer reach. I took a gulp of mine to hide what was sure to be a goofy smile.

Pumilee was already off on another train of thought. She tapped a passing tom on the shoulder. "Hey, excuse me?"

"Yes?" He smiled at her with easy liger charm. I drained my glass and tried not to mind, especially since Pumilee didn't seem charmed. She was much too practical for that.

"I've been wondering why my friends are wearing the colors that they are. I mean, Tygra's already so orange, and, well –" She cocked an eyebrow at me.

The liger blinked, and then his smile widened as he caught her meaning. "In our culture, miss, our toms dress to match their partners."

"Oh," was all Pumilee said, and the liger walked away. Then she burst out laughing, and she couldn't stop. I tried not to mind that, either, but I felt pretty stupid standing there, wearing purple that exactly matched her borrowed top.

Apparently, I wasn't being given any choice. For tonight, Pumilee was mine, and I was hers.

I admired the purple skirt that was so short it left most of her legs bare.

Maybe this wasn't so bad.

..::~*~::..

The harp, lyre, and flupe struck up a slower melody, haunting under the triple moonlight and the rainbow torches burning low. I knew this song. Although played with different harmonies than I was used to, the rhythm was the same. It was a waltz.

I turned to Pumilee, who was chatting with Cheetara, and bowed, holding out a paw. "May I have this dance?"

Pumilee stared at me as if I'd grown a second head.

"You're supposed to say yes," I said in a stage whisper, holding my pose. For some reason, my heart was pounding. Strange. I'd never been nervous at the various balls thrown by my father for visiting dignitaries or my birthday. But this was Pumilee, and I realized that not only did I not know what she would say given a choice, but that I was afraid she would say no.

Her glossed lips spread in a small smile, her eyes sizing me up. "Then, yes. You may," she said, and slipped her paw into mine.

I led her out to the floor where other couples were pairing up. I held her right paw up, level with her chin, and she tentatively rested her left on my shoulder. My other paw fit so easily into the curve of her waist, and we stood a moment, not moving, with barely room for our breathing between us.

"I don't know this dance," she said, her eyes locked on mine.

"Just follow my lead," I said.

"Lead?" she asked, and then a little gasp escaped her when I tightened my grip on her waist and began the dance. "Oh."

"No, don't look down," I told her in a low voice. "Look at me."

"Then how can I see what my feet are supposed to be doing?" she asked, and there was the pragmatic Pumilee I knew, brows furrowed, eyes fierce.

I leaned in so that we were cheek to cheek, close but not quite touching. "Trust your instincts."

I could tell it took everything she had not to pull away in consternation. Ignoring that, I gave her fingers a reassuring squeeze and continued dancing, urging her to dance with me. To be one with me.

After a few beats, she relaxed. Her hips swayed under my paw, her steps matching mine, a give and take as old as civilization. Then, hesitantly, she turned her face away and rested her head on my shoulder. I closed my eyes. We moved together under the moonlight, my senses full of her, her scent, her warmth.

I'd never experienced anything like it.

When the music ended and the couples around us stood apart to clap, we stilled. I didn't release her. She didn't lift her head.

A heartbeat. Two. Then she sighed and stepped back.

"Thank you for the dance," she said, her voice shaky.

I lifted her paw, about to kiss it, and then the music crashed onto the scene, rowdy and lively once again. The dance floor exploded.

With an apologetic smile, Pumilee allowed herself to be scooped up by a circle of dancers, and I did the same.

..::~*~::..

Sometime around our third break in dancing, Bengali and Panthro decided to make a reappearance.

Exhilarated but in desperate need of something to drink, Pumilee led me off the dance floor and up to Tygra and Cheetara, who were also resting with glasses of Summer Fey.

"Wow, I didn't know parties could be this enjoyable," I commented.

"Maybe because no one here sees you as royalty," Cheetara suggested.

"The ligers also seem more liberal," Pumilee added thoughtfully. Abruptly, she spun around and pinned me with her blazing eyes.

Taken aback by her sudden ferocity, I jumped, but relaxed when she did nothing more threatening than speak.

"Do us all a favor, King, and make Thundera better than what it was," she said seriously. "All these experiences we have away from Thundera, all these lifestyles – you should use them to better your people's lives."

She was right, of course, and she, ignorant in her wisdom, had no idea how lovely she was as she expressed her desire for an improved kingdom. I smiled. "I'll add Summer Fey to the list of 'must be added.'"

What I didn't say was that I'd do it for her, and her alone.

She giggled, oblivious. "Perfect! We'll have quality drinks at parties!"

"Well, _that's_ a relief," Bengali chuckled, bringing me back to my sad reality.

Since he'd returned, that meant he'd found his cousin. The dance would be over soon, and we would return to our usual roles, and the war. But I would remember this night for the rest of my life.

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><p><em><strong>AN: **Please leave a review on your way out! Also, if you haven't read Panther's fic yet, now is a great time. X3_

_Love,_

_Anne_


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